Monday, March 7, 2011
כלה השבת שלי
Winter, in her pure majesty, has finally melted away. Rain pitter-patters on my window. I have always related seasons to my own growth, in with one, out with the other... full circle: a new year, a new me. Growth, as spring has almost sprung, makes me think about the growth spurt I have just experienced over a short two days. I have finally kept my first shabbos. Here I say this, not because I didn't mess up (I accidently turned off a light), but because I felt a higher sense of peace. The Kallah finally came.
Friday, February 4, 2011
The Jewish Army
My heart was pounding; my breathing, heavy. I have been accepted to college. But, my head does not turn. Sure it's alluring, but my heart is still set on one place: Eretz Yisroel.
I have thought, no, agonized, over my decision of joining the army. I reluctantly withdrew my application from Garin Tzabar, convinced by my brother to learn Judaism in Seminary for the next year. I'll be in Jersualem (Baruch Hashem!); hopefully in Neve Yerushaliem. Here, I will learn my Jewish roots. But, I scream on the inside because I don't want to sit down behind safe walls. I want to stand up and fight for my protection. Fight for my homeland. Fight for my people. Instead, I'm going to learn. Learn about my people. Learn for the sake of my people. I'm keeping the Jewish conscience fresh in my mind, alive in every breath.
Does this mean I'm going to become orthodox, wear a skirt, have six kids, and be essentially a house wife? This is an extremely difficult question to combat. Not only because I'm aware this question is loaded, but because there is no answer. My closest friends call me a hippie "peacenik," but recognize my unyielding passions, which stir rebellion sometimes. So... yeah, I'm a little rebellious (okay... really rebellious), but while my stubbornness gets me into trouble, it has also opened myself up to many opportunities. I fell in love with Israel and have been determined to return (even though it is against my parents wishes.) By returning to my home, I'll be growing into the person I truly want to be... But ORTHODOXY? Really, Bekah?
Last night, I was having a... well, a melt-down essentially. I was thinking about my yearning for Israel, my pride for Tzahal, my curiosity for Jewish knowledge, and the reality and practicality of college at this junction in my life. So many options for such an indecisive person! So I called my big brother. I don't like asking him for advice or anything (running to my big brother always seemed slightly cliche and immature), but I needed a clear point of view from someone who has walked in my shoes. He said something of unmeasurable value to me. He said, "What does the Israeli army need another pair of boots for? You'll probably end up being a desk jockey because of your lack of Hebrew skills. And besides do you want to hold a gun?" Maybe not so encouraging in retrospect, but he was trying to give me a reality check before the army could. He went on to talk about how badly he wished to join the Israeli army. How much he wanted to do the same thing as me. But he said, in the end, being essentially forced into college by our parents, he's become a better soldier. He is shomer mitzvos. He is a Jewish student, and a Jewish educator. He is a supporter of Eretz Israel. My brother is a Jewish Soldier.
Do I want to be a Jewish soldier? Yes. Yes a hundred times over. Maybe a skirt isn't my style... but I want to keep the Jewish conscience alive. And more than that, my image of Israel was never the beach and bars. For some reason, while most people look at Israel for a nice "jewish vacation spot," I saw Israel as the land of my people. I imagined back breaking labourers under the swelling sun, literally, physically, building our land up to Hashem. Trying not to give the false impression of the Tower of Babel, I see the land as a way to elevate ourself.
Now, I know being an orthodox woman does not entail my "having six kids and being a house wife," despite my jest. I say that because that's how my other Jewish friends see it. Ironically, none of my non-Jewish friends have that stigma, but that's an enigma to me. But, down to the finite, I just don't know how to go about this all. I am first and foremost trying to be a soldier in the Jewish Army. But does that entail becoming "orthodox?" And, any way, can't I still be a soldier in the Israeli army, too? I know that for the most part, they don't accept religion, but that doesn't deter me from wanting to fight for my land. Maybe I'll stick to studying in my safe building and letting the "boots" defend it... but I'm not sure how long it will take for me to get so restless behind safe walls that I go grab a gun... But, as I think about this more... maybe I will first reach for the plow shed.
I have thought, no, agonized, over my decision of joining the army. I reluctantly withdrew my application from Garin Tzabar, convinced by my brother to learn Judaism in Seminary for the next year. I'll be in Jersualem (Baruch Hashem!); hopefully in Neve Yerushaliem. Here, I will learn my Jewish roots. But, I scream on the inside because I don't want to sit down behind safe walls. I want to stand up and fight for my protection. Fight for my homeland. Fight for my people. Instead, I'm going to learn. Learn about my people. Learn for the sake of my people. I'm keeping the Jewish conscience fresh in my mind, alive in every breath.
Does this mean I'm going to become orthodox, wear a skirt, have six kids, and be essentially a house wife? This is an extremely difficult question to combat. Not only because I'm aware this question is loaded, but because there is no answer. My closest friends call me a hippie "peacenik," but recognize my unyielding passions, which stir rebellion sometimes. So... yeah, I'm a little rebellious (okay... really rebellious), but while my stubbornness gets me into trouble, it has also opened myself up to many opportunities. I fell in love with Israel and have been determined to return (even though it is against my parents wishes.) By returning to my home, I'll be growing into the person I truly want to be... But ORTHODOXY? Really, Bekah?
Last night, I was having a... well, a melt-down essentially. I was thinking about my yearning for Israel, my pride for Tzahal, my curiosity for Jewish knowledge, and the reality and practicality of college at this junction in my life. So many options for such an indecisive person! So I called my big brother. I don't like asking him for advice or anything (running to my big brother always seemed slightly cliche and immature), but I needed a clear point of view from someone who has walked in my shoes. He said something of unmeasurable value to me. He said, "What does the Israeli army need another pair of boots for? You'll probably end up being a desk jockey because of your lack of Hebrew skills. And besides do you want to hold a gun?" Maybe not so encouraging in retrospect, but he was trying to give me a reality check before the army could. He went on to talk about how badly he wished to join the Israeli army. How much he wanted to do the same thing as me. But he said, in the end, being essentially forced into college by our parents, he's become a better soldier. He is shomer mitzvos. He is a Jewish student, and a Jewish educator. He is a supporter of Eretz Israel. My brother is a Jewish Soldier.
Do I want to be a Jewish soldier? Yes. Yes a hundred times over. Maybe a skirt isn't my style... but I want to keep the Jewish conscience alive. And more than that, my image of Israel was never the beach and bars. For some reason, while most people look at Israel for a nice "jewish vacation spot," I saw Israel as the land of my people. I imagined back breaking labourers under the swelling sun, literally, physically, building our land up to Hashem. Trying not to give the false impression of the Tower of Babel, I see the land as a way to elevate ourself.
Now, I know being an orthodox woman does not entail my "having six kids and being a house wife," despite my jest. I say that because that's how my other Jewish friends see it. Ironically, none of my non-Jewish friends have that stigma, but that's an enigma to me. But, down to the finite, I just don't know how to go about this all. I am first and foremost trying to be a soldier in the Jewish Army. But does that entail becoming "orthodox?" And, any way, can't I still be a soldier in the Israeli army, too? I know that for the most part, they don't accept religion, but that doesn't deter me from wanting to fight for my land. Maybe I'll stick to studying in my safe building and letting the "boots" defend it... but I'm not sure how long it will take for me to get so restless behind safe walls that I go grab a gun... But, as I think about this more... maybe I will first reach for the plow shed.
Friday, August 6, 2010
I Am The Dreamer
There is this one road I drive on. Its path winds and bends, through thick forests and lethargic farmland, over highways and bridges, past streams and under stars. No matter how I like to speed, catching warm breeze through my window and rushes of adrenaline, which colour my face, on this road I go 20 [mph] under. I like to capture the entire scene from beginning to end. I like to bask in the ecstasy of the view, unhindered by any passing car. Yet, around 18:30/19:00, my breathing almost ceases when on this road. The entire aura of the picture has changed, and now it is heavy with gold dust. The air is saturated with orange and yellow film, heightening the presence of nature. Nothing has ever been more striking.
On my way back, the sun had finished its journey, long since set. The stars glisten in a crisp summer sky. The full moon hangs over the radio tower, trying to catch the waves of music running through the body of my car. The clouds are illuminated by the florescent moon, but the pattern in which they scatter across the sky has me yearning for a frame, to capture my panorama and keep forever.
But through the clouds I see the stars, like spilled glitter, start to sweep themselves into pictures of their own. The big constellation, I've recognized since birth, catches my sight and sent my mind spiralling. As the winds pick up, I realize it's the very same one. It's the very same one I looked up at fifteen months ago. I take in as much air as my lungs will permit, and exhale softer than the breeze. These are my stars, the same ones from home: Israel.
As I walked down my street in the dead of night, they are the same stars that stole my breath as I first muttered the words, "HaShem, hachochaviem shelo zot yafim meod,"* in my imperfect Hebrew. They are the stars that slowly vanished as I was left singing “Eli, Eli" as I prepared to leave. Imagining my surroundings, masked in shadows, I drew my Israeli sky over its American counterpart and recalled the words that entered my heart, scrawled on a flag, my blue stained white flag, “Ein li eretz acheret." I have no other land. But I ask in response, if I have no other land, why is my heart torn in two?
My name is Rebekah Carly Morris, Tzisil Aviva. I am seventeen years old. And these might be the only facts you may find in my writings.
There is no chronological order in which to start, so I'll start with the future. In one year from now, if my plans unfold correctly, I'll be living in Israel, on a Kibbutz, in a program called Garin Tzabar, B'Ezrat HaShem. I'll be on my way to joining the Israeli army, already in possession of my Israeli citizenship. Presently, I am awaiting for the application to Garin Tzabar. And as the past would have it, two of my felIow Eisendrath International Exchange (EIE) peers made Aliyah a few days ago.
Often, I feel my self defending my choice, so obscure for the typical American Jew. How, I ask myself, am I supposed to explain myself to all the people who wish I'd stay in America? How do I make them understand, if not agree, to why I feel I need to leave? I'm not sure if this forum is a portal to convey these answers, but I'm sure it is a place to at least voice my thoughts. I kept another blog "RebekahsAdventure.blogspot.com" for my travels from EIE. I urge you to seek out the ones that displayed my passion during Gadna(a taste of basic training in the army). But, back to the core message of this post:
Lis, my roommate from Israel, and I sat down yesterday, by the poolside on a flawless August afternoon. She said, "Once high school ends, our lives begin." And now I sit here, in my room, with six Israeli flags scattered around. I have my map of Israel by my door, as well. My desk holds various Jewish books, and the Tanakh I traveled with. On my floor sits my Hebrew dictionary, and my blanket is sharpie-stained with a Jewish star proclaiming the months I spent in the Holy Land. Around my neck rests the Jewish star my brother picked out for me; sand, from the north to south of Israel hangs in a tube, colorful and captivating; and there, at the bottom of my chain, there is a bullet from the ammunitions factory. That factory helped Israel win its independence. Where does life begin? It's when the choices you make are your own. It's when the life you lead is all yours to lead.
My reason for going to Israel is complex at heart. My reasons for going is more than just a religion, its more than just a gun. My reasons might even trump the pride I feel altogether. I laughed with Lis, telling her I can't believe what I'm doing. I wouldn't get married to a man I've only met for four months. But, here I am, running off to marry Israel; Like a lustful woman on her wedding day, unsure if love will settle in her heart until the end of time. Death do us part. But, the real reason, so sacred to me, is soul. I have an obligation that runs deeper than bone. I have a love that transcends my core. I have more than just an ascetic love of the land. The soul of my people rests there. The way I feel when I walk at night, just changes me. The stars are the same, but when I'm there I am not. I am the person I'd rather myself see:
On my way back, the sun had finished its journey, long since set. The stars glisten in a crisp summer sky. The full moon hangs over the radio tower, trying to catch the waves of music running through the body of my car. The clouds are illuminated by the florescent moon, but the pattern in which they scatter across the sky has me yearning for a frame, to capture my panorama and keep forever.
But through the clouds I see the stars, like spilled glitter, start to sweep themselves into pictures of their own. The big constellation, I've recognized since birth, catches my sight and sent my mind spiralling. As the winds pick up, I realize it's the very same one. It's the very same one I looked up at fifteen months ago. I take in as much air as my lungs will permit, and exhale softer than the breeze. These are my stars, the same ones from home: Israel.
As I walked down my street in the dead of night, they are the same stars that stole my breath as I first muttered the words, "HaShem, hachochaviem shelo zot yafim meod,"* in my imperfect Hebrew. They are the stars that slowly vanished as I was left singing “Eli, Eli" as I prepared to leave. Imagining my surroundings, masked in shadows, I drew my Israeli sky over its American counterpart and recalled the words that entered my heart, scrawled on a flag, my blue stained white flag, “Ein li eretz acheret." I have no other land. But I ask in response, if I have no other land, why is my heart torn in two?
My name is Rebekah Carly Morris, Tzisil Aviva. I am seventeen years old. And these might be the only facts you may find in my writings.
There is no chronological order in which to start, so I'll start with the future. In one year from now, if my plans unfold correctly, I'll be living in Israel, on a Kibbutz, in a program called Garin Tzabar, B'Ezrat HaShem. I'll be on my way to joining the Israeli army, already in possession of my Israeli citizenship. Presently, I am awaiting for the application to Garin Tzabar. And as the past would have it, two of my felIow Eisendrath International Exchange (EIE) peers made Aliyah a few days ago.
Often, I feel my self defending my choice, so obscure for the typical American Jew. How, I ask myself, am I supposed to explain myself to all the people who wish I'd stay in America? How do I make them understand, if not agree, to why I feel I need to leave? I'm not sure if this forum is a portal to convey these answers, but I'm sure it is a place to at least voice my thoughts. I kept another blog "RebekahsAdventure.blogspot.com" for my travels from EIE. I urge you to seek out the ones that displayed my passion during Gadna(a taste of basic training in the army). But, back to the core message of this post:
Lis, my roommate from Israel, and I sat down yesterday, by the poolside on a flawless August afternoon. She said, "Once high school ends, our lives begin." And now I sit here, in my room, with six Israeli flags scattered around. I have my map of Israel by my door, as well. My desk holds various Jewish books, and the Tanakh I traveled with. On my floor sits my Hebrew dictionary, and my blanket is sharpie-stained with a Jewish star proclaiming the months I spent in the Holy Land. Around my neck rests the Jewish star my brother picked out for me; sand, from the north to south of Israel hangs in a tube, colorful and captivating; and there, at the bottom of my chain, there is a bullet from the ammunitions factory. That factory helped Israel win its independence. Where does life begin? It's when the choices you make are your own. It's when the life you lead is all yours to lead.
My reason for going to Israel is complex at heart. My reasons for going is more than just a religion, its more than just a gun. My reasons might even trump the pride I feel altogether. I laughed with Lis, telling her I can't believe what I'm doing. I wouldn't get married to a man I've only met for four months. But, here I am, running off to marry Israel; Like a lustful woman on her wedding day, unsure if love will settle in her heart until the end of time. Death do us part. But, the real reason, so sacred to me, is soul. I have an obligation that runs deeper than bone. I have a love that transcends my core. I have more than just an ascetic love of the land. The soul of my people rests there. The way I feel when I walk at night, just changes me. The stars are the same, but when I'm there I am not. I am the person I'd rather myself see:
Happy. In Love. At Home.
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